Disposable Teen
by Kermitfries
Summary: AU. Whammy's house is an institution for the unstable teenagers of today. Matt, mello and Near have been sent there for diverse reasons - to repent.
1. Whammy's house

Notes: This is AU. Whammy's house is an institution for the mentally unstable . This story will focus on Matt, Mello and Near, who have all been given different, somewhat diverse beginnings, but hopefully I'll be able to level out their personalities canon enough. L may appear. B will definitely appear. This story is rated M for the material that will undoubtedly surface later on. I should probably wait until I have more written to post but…cheers ^_^

The hospital ward was large, pristine, white, and completely hollow. The hospital ward was lined with vacant beds. In the twelfth bed laid Matt Jeevas. He was skinny and sickly pale. Marring that white skin were an assortment of bruises. Beneath the thin hospital issued sheet were far more severe bruises. Finger shaped bruises adorned his bony hips, his thighs. Welts cut into his back, a startling red in contrast to his colorless skin. But his arms were the most telling. Right there on his arms was the reason he was here. At Whammy's house for the mentally unstable. At the crook of each arm were so many tiny, needle point holes, that they bled into one another. Little scars - bruised scars that blatantly revealed exactly what Matt did in his free time.

Matt was fourteen, he was short for his age and underfed. His hair was a ashen red color, shaggy and uncombed. It'd been unwashed before he'd been admitted to the institution. Matt was fourteen, and he'd nearly died. Another, not quite so obvious, reason for his admittance. He'd been found on the side of a road, his face submerged in a puddle of vomit. He'd drowned -- choked -- on his own vomit.

He awoke to this pristine, shiny room and immediately squeezed his eyes shut. A headache, ignited by the painfully bright room, raced across his forehead and it made him grimace and recoil as if he'd actually received a physical blow. And then his mind churned, trying desperately to remember last night. He had no idea where he was.

Easing his eyes open, he soaked in the room. He still had to squint - what the hell was with this lighting? "Hey," he called out to a passing nurse. Pain tore down his throat and his voice was more like a croak. Not as demanding as he'd have liked. It must have been a side effect of all the vomiting he'd done the night before. And all the vomiting the hospital had forced him to do when they pumped his stomach. "Where the fuck am I?"

The nurse glanced at Matt and then back in the direction she was heading. Blatantly reluctant, she approached the boy. "Whammy's house," She informed her. Her tone was robotic in a way that conveyed intelligence. Her lips and tongue formed each word properly - how they were meant to be formed. And Matt was already developing an opinion of this bitch without hearing more than two words from her.

"What the fuck -"

"Please refrain from using derogative language," she cut him off curtly. "Whammy's house is an institution established for children who may not be getting the attentive care they deserve at home. You overdosed on vicodin, Mr. Jeevas," she informed him. Matt didn't remember it, but he didn't doubt her. It was something he was very likely to do. "There are drugs in your system, drugs beyond the vicodin. Illegal substances. And because of your situation, instead of going to a correctional juvenile facility, you have been sent to Whammy's. It is our job to _fix _you."

"Well, that's awfully kind of you," Matt assured her. His tone, even without the croak, belied his entire sentence. "Why am I -" Matt lifted an arm and the shackle clanked noisily. He'd been confined to the bed. "-handcuffed?"

"Because of the extent of your home situation, there is no way to predict how violent you will become. All new entries, except for extremely rare cases, are restrained upon initial entry, Mr. Jeevas. You will be put into our system and we will give you the right to earn our trust and your freedom. If you succeed in the system to the extent of rehabilitation, we will release you."Matt mulled that over. Well, in his mind, he sort of prodded that bit of information but with his sluggish intake, the information refused to actually turn over. He couldn't think clearly, which seemed to happen more often than you'd think. "What the fuck does that mean?" He asked when the nurse looked ready to leave.

Irritation tore across her face in long winded sprints, but just as quickly she managed to subdue it and tuck it away. Impressive. "At Whammy's house there is a five step process. For the first two steps of that process you are restrained and watched at all times. For the first two steps you are locked in a room, on your own. It is your dorm. You are given the bare minimum essentials and it is up to you to earn more. The only people you will interact with are the orderlies. With step three underway, we remove your restraints, and if we see fit, we give you a room mate. With this step you may eat lunch in the cafeteria, and you'll be given a set amount of free time. It is with step three that we enroll you in the school at Whammy's."

Once more, he soaked up that bit of information. "What if I don't want to?" He supposed that in juvie, he'd have a chance to pursue his own addictions. Sex, drugs and abuse, really. Not everybody wanted to be saved.

"You do not have a choice, Mr. Jeevas. You are already being put into our system. You may remain at step one if you'd like. But all you'll get from that is an empty room and bland meals. The orderlies here are very uncaring when it comes to what we like to call 'under steppers'." Was that a threat?

Matt just shrugged. He was sure he could stomach just how 'uncaring' the orderlies could be. "When the _fuck _do I get out of this _damn _room?" He asked, but with his wording and the sharp croak of his tone, it sounded like a demand. A defiant demand.

The nurse couldn't hide her irritation this time. If this really was a home for the throwaway kids, surely she was forced to deal with far worse than Matt every day. "Judging from your attitude, I suppose you're well enough now." The nurse turned abruptly and walked away. He'd pissed her off, and yet he could feel his chapped lips curling into a painful smile.

But then the hospital ward's orderly appeared beside his bed. The handcuffs were unfastened and Matt was jerked roughly from the bed. It took actual effort to get his feet underneath himself and regain his balance. He felt weak. He arms were jerked behind his back and the handcuffs were refastened. His stomach churned. The pain was so intense that he was suddenly concerned with just exactly what the fuck was going on inside of his stomach. He'd overdosed, and his stomach had to be pumped. But the pain was crippling. He paused and almost hunched over, but the orderly wouldn't let him. Matt was jerked forward and forced to keep up with the long strides of the orderly.


	2. Matt

**Disclaimer**: Forgot to add it at the beginning of the first chapter. I do not own Death note or any of the affiliated characters. I do not profit from this work of fiction.

**Warning**: There is sex in this chapter. I apologize, I really do write sex way too much. But I believe the sex does set the foundation of what Whammy's house really is, and how it works. It also helps set the foundation of what Matt is and how he was brought up. So this story begins with Matt, because it was he alone that inspired me to begin this fic, but both Mello and Near will be explored as well, in their own time. But anyway - this chapter features sex between a man and an underaged, delirious boy. It also features cussing, so if either of those bother you, then skip to the bottom of the chapter. The last sentence shall catch you up to speed.

--

The nurse had not lied, Matt realized much to his dismay. He was quite literally locked within an empty, small, room. There was a single bed, with a blanket. That was it. He was curled in the cold, hard bed, buried beneath the too thin blanket, sweating and shivering and bone tired. But he couldn't sleep. He'd been locked in this room for two days, left completely to himself. He was forced to endure his withdrawal on his own, without food or water or comfort. He'd never experienced this feeling before. This utter lack of…everything. It felt as if nothing else could ever matter, not as great as this pain that weighed like a stone, heavily in his gut. He was cold, but his face was flushed and his body hurt with how hard it was shaking. The sweat made his skin oily and his hair clung to his face, disheveled and unmoving.

"F-fuck," he gritted out. "Fuck. Fu-uck. Fuck." It had become a personal mantra for Matt. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Even when his lips didn't move to form the words; when his lips shook too violently, when his teeth chattered too much to risk using his tongue. That single word was all that existed to him. That and the pain, and the relentless need. He no longer cared about the high the drugs gave him, but he needed them. So fucking much. "Fuck." It was dirty, and starving and dying with those drugs. It didn't even matter what they were anymore. Coke, heroin, E, pot - fuck, he even needed cigarettes. He was starving, and anything would do.

Matt jumped violently when he felt the blanket being peeled back. He hadn't heard the door opening or the footsteps that couldn't have been soundless on these cement floors. But now there was a man - well an orderly - prying his blanket away from his freezing body and Matt instinctively clung to that blanket. The orderly laughed at him but Matt didn't have enough energy to scowl.

"I brought you a present." The orderly informed him. His hands were on Matt, guiding Matt onto his back. His fingers, much warmer than Matt's, stroked up his arm. Matt couldn't focus enough to realize that this man was tightening a belt around his upper arm, even as the leather cut viciously into his bruises. And then the man's fingers touched Matt's face, cupping his cheeks. Matt's eyes, unfocused and dark, flickered up to meet this stranger's steady gaze. Matt's eyes quickly fell. "Do you want your present, my pretty?" he purred.

This man's face was so very close to Matt's but the boy didn't even seem to notice. He wasn't recoiling like all the others. The addiction must really be taking its toll on him. "P-p-present?" Matt managed to force out. The orderly smiled down at him. It was a sadistic, mean smile. Matt knew this.

And just like that, a needle appeared in front of Matt's eyes and the boy struggled to refocus his gaze to take in that beautiful sight. For a second he blinked stupidly at it, and then his lips trembled, as if he was trying to smile but couldn't quite manage it. But then he reached for it, quicker than the orderly had expected him to. But the orderly easily caught his hand and pinned it to the bed "Nu uh," he tutted happily. "Ask nicely, like a good little boy, my pretty."

There was absolutely no hesitance in Matt's stuttered plead. But perhaps if he was sober, he wouldn't have hesitated either. Matt really did enjoy his drugs. "P-p-please," he stuttered. He didn't reach again, his arm was dead weight beneath the orderly's hand. "Please - I'll give you -"

"What?" The orderly prompted, smiling down at Matt. This was how he liked his inmates. Writhing and delirious beneath him. If he just presented them with their addiction, they were likely to give him whatever he asked for.

"What-whatever," Matt answered promptly. He'd learned that that was the magic word. He'd learned - the hard way - that he could deal with giving them exactly what they wanted. If it came to that. But right now, he didn't even care. "Anything," he added desperately. "Please…" And now, he reached forward with his free hand, and the orderly relented. He let Matt snatch the needle from his hand. Matt busied himself with isolating one of his many very visible, blue veins. His skin was nearly translucent. Without hesitance, Matt pressed the needle into his vein and injected the poison. Almost immediately, he relaxed beneath the orderly with a satisfied sigh.

And above him, the orderly watched the boy. Matt was clean now - his hair didn't even look as dull as it had when he'd first been admitted. It was a beautiful dark red. His eyes were vibrant, green. So very pretty, especially when he looked so damn needy. With nimble fingers, the orderly unfastened the belt and let it clatter to the floor - where the needle must have gone, because Matt's fingers couldn't hold it any longer.

And then the orderly quickly descended on Matt and pressed a first, experimental, kiss against the boy's pale, cracked lips. The boy didn't move for a long time, because he wasn't there. He was floating away. His lack of response allowed the orderly to open his lips and slipped his tongue in. But then Matt's lips began to sluggish move and respond to the kiss. This was clearly what the orderly wanted in return, and Matt was kissing him back.

But that wasn't what the orderly had came for. His hands were on Matt's thighs, and then they were pulling down the institute issued sweats. But Matt wasn't cold anymore. Matt felt amazing, he was still floating. He wanted to smile. Clothing fell silently to the floor, but Matt wasn't watching him anymore. His eyes had fluttered shut, but Matt couldn't fall asleep - not when he felt so fucking amazing. But he felt like he could sleep, and that was all that mattered.

"That's it, my pretty," the orderly cooed, as he spread Matt's thighs. The lack of color in the boy's skin was very worrisome. He was so pale, so very sickly pale. And because of that paleness, the bruises on his thighs and hips looked black. But Matt never once flinched, as the orderly's fingers curled on Matt's hips. It was obvious that Matt wasn't a virgin, even before the orderly entered him. What a dirty little whore, this little boy.

How beautifully he writhed beneath the orderly. He didn't scream or beg him to stop, like the other children. And while he loved that blatant look of terror, he may just like this child the most. He loved how Matt spread his legs wider without coaxing and didn't tense or resist the orderly in the least. He knew it was the heroin. If Matt had been sober, he would have acted differently, but the orderly still wanted to try that out and see if the boy screamed when he had nothing to numb the pain. This one came from a broken home, he was supposed to be violent. Not so damn willing.

One minute, the man was moving above him; his lips were hard and demanding. His tongue excavated Matt's mouth, but Matt didn't even try to escape the invasive touch. And then the man was gone and Matt was jerking awake. And there was a boy in his room. Staring at him.

And then that boy moved, extended a thin, pale arm and asked, "chocolate?"


End file.
